


But then you say, "Please"

by howbadcanmyficsbe



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Javert's Confused Boner, Light Bondage, M/M, Post-Seine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21738139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howbadcanmyficsbe/pseuds/howbadcanmyficsbe
Summary: “You needn’t be so gentle.”Valjean paused, forkful of food halfway into his mouth. “Whatever do you mean?”
Relationships: Javert/Jean Valjean
Comments: 8
Kudos: 129





	But then you say, "Please"

**Author's Note:**

> “You know, I don’t get homoerotically pinned to the wall nearly enough.” -Javert, probably

“You needn’t be so gentle.”

Valjean paused, forkful of food halfway into his mouth. “Whatever do you mean?”

Javert exhaled through his nose, as if exerting a great effort to speak, and turned away so as to not face him. “With me... you needn’t be so gentle.”

As Valjean tried to make sense of what exactly he was asking of him, he watched Javert’s ears turn red. A look of comprehension finally dawned on Valjean’s face. In the past year, they began to share a home, and, as they became closer, began to share much more intimate things. The more furtive aspect of their relationship was still new, a territory that neither had treaded through. Oftentimes, it felt as if they were stumbling in a dark, abandoned house, attempting to navigate and light the space all while tripping over one another. Terrifying at first, but ultimately comforted by the presence of one another as they made that house their own.

Subsequently, Valjean was surprised to hear this, or any, request from Javert. He seldom asked for anything, instead staying more intently focused on Valjean’s needs. And focused he was, doing everything in his power to please him, to the point of ignoring bringing himself to completion. If he asked Javert what he wanted for, he was only met with stubborn acceptance of Valjean’s fumbling caresses and his best guess at what Javert might like. Still, he refused to find any fault with Valjean in that regard, insisting his performance was perfect in all aspects.

What he was likely referring to was the previous night, in which Valjean had given his best effort to take care of Javert with the same tenderness he so often gave Valjean. The night had felt stilted, and Valjean was at a loss for what he might do. Though Javert would loathe to hear him say it, he deserved intimacy, and Valjean worried that he could not provide it in a way that he would fully enjoy.

“Disregard it,” Javert said suddenly. “You need not trouble yourself.” He returned to eating, face still a furious shade of red.

“No, please,” Valjean said, almost too quickly, and breathed out. “I am just trying to understand what it is you ask of me.” Javert was silent as Valjean went to hold his hand atop the table, a reassurance and a question in the gesture.

“I should not like to hurt you, Javert,” he said, unsure.

“I do not wish for that, exactly. I simply have always… admired your strength and- I only- please,” Javert stumbled over his words, trying to right himself. “Forget the matter altogether.”

Valjean regarded him warily before picking at his own meal, allowing the subject to drop. All the while, he tossed his words around in his mind, stealing glances at Javert’s fading flush.

* * *

It was late when Javert arrived home. He had long since drastically cut down the hours of work required of him after his recovery from the Seine; his health would not allow for such rigor. However, there were rare days when an investigation went too long, keeping him far past dinner. At this hour, the street was quiet, and their housekeeper gone for the night as Javert climbed the stairs of the apartment.

In the days since Javert had brought that inane desire to light, Valjean was distant. Each night, he barely touched Javert, only giving him careful looks, often appearing lost in thought. Javert only desired now to go back to the way they were, to ignore the demands of his treacherous body. It made him long for a time where he could steel any wish from his mind, for servants need not think. He was unused to such—rather, any—thoughts plaguing him. Scarcely could he even name his want, only for Valjean to discard any doubt in handling Javert.

It often seemed as if he were afraid of his own strength, to confront the man who would once use it in hatred. Javert despaired at the thought; he wanted desperately for those strong arms to hold him, fear left to the past. Perhaps, he had now ruined any chance of it.

Sighing, he shed his outer layers and took off his waistcoat as he entered their bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. He found Valjean in his chair by the window, leafing through a book.

“Ah,” Javert said, frozen at the door. “I thought you would be asleep at this hour.”

Valjean studied him silently. He was in only his shirtsleeves, cravat loosened, hinting at the bare skin and faded scars below. Javert cleared his throat, attempting not to stare, unable to escape Valjean’s gaze.

“I apologize for my lateness, but there is no need to wait on my account,” he said.

Looking out the window, Valjean exhaled, closing the book and placing it on the side table. Javert stood anxiously at the door, sensing an odd air in the way Valjean walked toward him. He did not relent until he was nearly standing on Javert’s toes, looking up into his face.

“What was it you said?” Valjean mused, cradling Javert’s face with his hand. “When we ate?” His tone was light, but there was something else underneath, something that made a shiver travel up Javert’s spine.

Javert swallowed thickly. “I... I do not recall.”

“Nonsense,” he said, tipping Javert’s chin so that he was forced to look into his eyes and the smile crossing his lips. How ironic, Javert thought, to see such a devilish smile on a man so angelic. “‘You needn’t be so gentle,’ was it?”

Javert meant to reply an affirmation, to nod his head, but he was immobile, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, nerves petrified in place.

“May I give an effort?” Valjean supplied.

“…Please.”

In a flash, Valjean was upon him, pinning his shoulders and pushing his back against the door with a force he had not felt before turned towards him. There was no hesitation in the kiss pressed against his mouth, the impact turning his legs liquid, sending him sliding down so that their faces met.

When Valjean retreated into the crook of Javert’s neck to breathe, he kept his body flush to him, knee pressing roughly between his legs. It was in that moment that Javert made an unidentifiable sound, and Valjean nearly startled at the outburst. For his part, Javert seemed just as surprised, a flush rising to his confused face as he panted quietly, both of them still as statues.

“Are you quite alright?” Valjean said, his confidence now betrayed by his uncertain tone.

Javert, ever reserved, rarely reacted to anything with such uncontrolled intensity. Everything about Javert was nearly always so disciplined, so composed. This extended to his conduct during sex, during which he allowed only small, stifled noises.

The Javert before him was disheveled, falling apart at his very touch. Though, it was not his touch precisely. It was the overwhelming power he held over him, that Javert had conceded to him. He was at Valjean’s mercy, an insufferable, irresistible thing that drove Javert to much more dire circumstances in the past. This, however, was different. A bewildering exchange between enemies was now a pact between lovers, and the idea awoke in Javert a dizzying effect. A pervasive loss of control now ruled his faculties with Valjean at the reigns. It was exhilarating, and Javert wanted nothing more.

“Yes,” Javert said. His voice was low, expression twinged with a hint of shame and a ravenous hunger.

So unraveled was Javert that he thought he might fall to the floor. Attempting to reach out to him for purchase, Javert lifted his arms, only to have his wrists forcefully restrained against the door as Valjean, emboldened, kissed him once more. Involuntarily, he made another infernal sound, louder than the first, more pleading. Valjean now registered that Javert was already hard, straining in his trousers. It was alarming, Valjean thought, how such a simple thing was his undoing as Javert helplessly bucked his hips. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to draw out more of those fastidiously held noises from Javert’s throat, each one a prize hard-earned.

Without preamble, Valjean’s teeth were at his neck, teasing away his cravat and exploring the open skin underneath. Javert leaned his head back, a small series of moans leaving his lips, and Valjean hummed contentedly, pleased with his own handiwork.

He then slid his hands from Javert’s wrists down until he was wrenching his shirt from his pants, reaching underneath and pressing onto his bare chest. Javert’s back hit the door as he writhed underneath the touch. All but ripping the garment, he pulled it over Javert’s head and threw it aside. In the process, the queue holding his hair was left in disarray, and Valjean set it free, letting it fall around his shoulders.

“Bed,” Valjean ordered.

Before he could react, Valjean seized Javert, throwing him forcefully onto the bed where he landed with a slightly pained grunt. Immediately, Valjean halted and hovered at the edge of the bed. Javert looked at him with wide eyes, leaning on his elbows, utterly stunned.

“Are you alright?” Valjean said, authoritative tone shifting to genuine worry. “Was that too hard?”

It took not quite a minute for Javert to compose himself enough to respond. Shaking himself from his momentary stupor, he narrowed his eyes and scowled. “If you ask me again, Valjean I swear-“

Valjean cut him off, any reservations erased from his features as he climbed atop the bed and kissed him into silence. As he pulled back, he began to unfasten Javert’s trousers, pulling them down and discarding them on the floor with his shoes and stockings. For a moment of pause, he simply took in the man before him. His entire upper body was pink with heat, lean muscle holding his frame, and dark hair dusting his chest. What was most apparent was the wonderful arousal between his legs, standing at attention.

Grinning faintly, Valjean took his time to undress as Javert eyed him with confusion and embarrassment, mixed with a look one could only describe as lovesick. It never ceased to endear him, that Javert could look upon and touch his body with such care, scars and all. The shame he first felt revealing his wrists, his neck, his back had been gradually washed away by Javert’s loving gaze and his gentle kisses upon them. It seemed Javert now asked of him to accept yet another part of himself, to turn his strength to something worthy of love.

Now free from clothing, Valjean was straddling Javert, pinning him onto the bed. Only then did Javert catch sight of Valjean’s own excitement. His immediate instinct was to reach for it, to relieve him, but Valjean swatted his hands away, taking hold again of his wrists. He lowered his head to Javert’s neck, the scratch of his beard and the press of his skin drawing a whimper.

“Not now,” he murmured. “Tonight is for you, my love.”

“What-“ Javert hissed as Valjean _bit _him. It was light, playful, but the sensation shocked him enough to jerk his hips. “Whatever have I done to de-“ another bite, “deserve such a thing?”

In response, Valjean hummed, tracing his tongue on his skin and moving lower, still clamping Javert’s wrists away from his sides. He felt resistance, writhing hands, as he circled around a nipple. Encouraged by the strenuous breathing beneath him, he pressed kisses, continuing until he reached below his naval. Skirting around his member, he kissed in trails around Javert’s thighs, testing for the most sensitive spots. Hitting the softest patch of skin between his legs, he gripped Javert’s wrists firmly enough to bruise; Javert twisted and let out a lengthy, unrestrained moan, casting aside any remainder of composure he possessed.

Valjean lifted his head to look at Javert, to take in the fruits of his labor. Frantically breathing, his skin was hot to the touch and started to shine with sweat. His head hung back, expression pained. In front of Valjean, Javert’s prick was leaking, left unattended to ache against his belly.

“Are you well?” Valjean asked sweetly, gripping harder still.

“Good God, _Valje-_” Javert said, his name turning closer to a scream as Valjean’s mouth began to work its way around him. He tried in vain to lift his fist to bite down on the sounds that threatened to spill from him. “_Valjean,_” he said again, nearly a sob.

Smiling around him, Valjean ran his tongue along his length. There was no reservation in his movements now, clinging tightly to Javert, so close as to say that Javert’s soul was his to hold, for he had given it with love. Valjean’s hands moved deftly down to Javert’s palms, and their fingers intertwined. In that moment, Javert was gasping, spending into Valjean’s mouth, hips thrusting wildly and gripping Valjean’s hands with desperation.

Guiding him through the last bursts of pleasure, Valjean released Javert, climbing up to lie beside him. Javert had a dazed, satisfied look on his face. Valjean wanted only to stare at it in contentment, knowing he was responsible for those stray hairs stuck to his face and the flush across his cheeks. It was the first time he had seen Javert with such a look, and the thought overwhelmed his chest with affection.

While he lay engrossed in the sight, Javert took Valjean in his hand, sending him into convulsions within a few languid strokes. Valjean shakily wrapped his arms around Javert as he palmed him, pressing their bodies together and letting out a shuddering sigh. As he finished, Javert reciprocated, letting their legs tangle with the sheets and with one another.

Javert’s ragged breaths began to slow and he nestled himself against Valjean, listening to his fluttering heartbeat and focusing on the rise and fall of his chest. He placed his hand over that heart, marveling at the idea that Valjean would give him such a precious thing. The subject of hearts was quite new to Javert, and he wished to savor every moment that his own disobedient heart would rear its head.

“Well,” Valjean said wistfully. “Was I at all on the mark?”

Javert barked a laugh and retreated further into the embrace. “Nothing short of perfect.” And that time, he truly meant it.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Savior by St. Vincent, the sexiest of St. Vincent songs.


End file.
